


In Silence

by Acidqueen (syredronning)



Series: In Moments series [3]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: ASCEM, M/M, SpockMcCoyDen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-23
Updated: 2010-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-12 03:26:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syredronning/pseuds/Acidqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Words are not everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Silence

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to my story In the Closet, which is a sequel to In the Dark. It is recommended to read them first.
> 
> Thanks to JB for beta'ing!
> 
> Originally posted July 2004.

So here we are again, on neutral ground this time; the lights medium, the universe open to us both through the large window. I was already here when he entered; however, he did not leave but sat down on the couch. And I watch my face and him, mirrored in the glass.

There is a famous Romulan proverb that fate always knocks on your door three times, but never a fourth one.

I do not need to count to make my decision.

*

Probably it's been inevitable that we'd meet again right here on the spot. We'd been in this room with Jim only two days ago - now we're on our own. We've quietly acknowledged the other by nodding, but nothing else. I sit on the couch and watch him. I've come to terms with him and the feelings I've had for him. There's still a bit of sadness connected with it…I wish there'd been a better moment for us. But it's not been the right time. Probably there will never be the right time, and I can live with that now.

This simple feeling…no, there'd never been a simple feeling between us.

I wasn't hurt by the scene. If anything, I was happy to hear those words from a man who finally, really has acknowledged this side of his. Not like the man in that cubicle that day, where there were raw emotions pouring out like overheated magma, uncontrolled and dangerous.

He sits down opposite to me. And then he reaches out, places his open palm exactly in the middle between us. He offers, but the choice is mine. His face is stoic, eyes guarded. I don't know if it's a good idea, but talking hasn't worked in the past. Maybe it's time for this. I reach out, too, and connect.

*

I bleed; I am bleeding into him. It is not what I intended to do, but for once I have learned to give in to hunches. And so I do.

It is most remarkable.

And the easier thing right now, because I am only sending, not receiving. I am creating imbalance. Again. I should know better…

*

These feelings…Lord, so many layers. So many memories. I wonder if Jim felt the same. I wonder if I could share Spock with anyone. If Spock could share himself with more than one. His hand is so warm, so dry; it feels slightly unreal. But every nerve ending seems to find its counterpart, and the frizzling electric energy sweeps through me. I'm heating up, inside out. My lungs are fighting hard, telling me to stop my erratic breathing and get back to normal.

Normal was yesterday.

Normal was never.

*

Not I offer, but in truth he does, embracing my experiences and images without reluctance or redemption.

I watch his face, emotions mirroring in it like Terran clouds on oceans, their true nature blurred by the wind and the waves. He is a miracle and a secret, ever-changing and constant alike. I have watched his ways for years, and yet, what do I really know?

I want to explore him, feel him. Talk to him, sit with him in silence; learn all the things about him I never dared to ask.

Unexpectedly, he pulls away. It brings about a sudden sting of fear.

*

I can't remember that I've closed my eyes, but I'm opening them now as if for the first time. Our hands are still connected. Spock sits straight, his face strikingly frozen. It helps me to ground myself. I don't know if he was in for this bargain, if he knows how much of my well-resolved feelings he'd fired up again. How did I ever manage to reach the point of forgetting him? Only by total self-illusion.

My palm burns. If it could, my hand would crawl into his skin, merge with his flesh. Send tendrils along his arm, taste his blood. Eventually reach his heart, where it would settle down, cherishing this treasure. My lids drop again as the picture grows, gets tangible. I cradle him, some inner self of him; bury my soul's face in his neck, inhale his aura. He's everywhere around and in me. I'm bathing in his being, and now it's me who's cradled.

I melt into a blazing sea.

*

He did not leave; he did not shut me out. He only took a little breathe of reality, searched some solid ground in the middle of…

I do not know how to call this.

Stripped of rationalizations, only images of states remain. A cool summer's breeze in an alien forest. Grey clouds on blue sky, sending water on dry sands.

I lay down in the pouring rain until I am soaked. I sit and watch the sky, double suns spending warmth. Whatever I do, when I turn my head he is by my side, smiling.

There will rarely be calm weather with us. But there is no other way I would rather want it to be.

*

I get up. Or, at least, I suddenly find myself standing, leaning against him. Our heights almost match; it's symmetrical when we reach out, stroking each other's temple down to the chin. I break the synchronicity and touch his lips. I could lean forward and kiss them. I could lick them and taste them - taste him. Any second, I will do so…when I can stop adoring him. A myriad of feelings, and still…

Maybe it's simple in the end.


End file.
